


Open hearts and dinosaurs

by JustSemiotics



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Drunk!Sherlock, M/M, drunk!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 23:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSemiotics/pseuds/JustSemiotics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"John tried hard to figure out why for fucks sake he was lying on the cold hard floor of a remote, out-of-use monastery in the countryside, his back a mess and a lanky detective sprawled above him, dark locks tickling his cheeks."</p><p>A christmas gift for a friend!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open hearts and dinosaurs

John tried hard to figure out why for fucks sake he was lying on the cold hard floor of a remote, out-of-use monastery in the countryside, his back a mess and a lanky detective sprawled above him, dark locks tickling his cheeks. 

Well, he knew why they were in the monastery in the first place. To no one´s suprise, „they´re all pressing til they´re solved“ meant that it was perfectly reasonable to drive three hours into the countryside to investigate the spectacular murder of an abott, that took place in the freaking 1160s. Sherlock had solved the case in under 10 minutes. („It was the librarian. Embarassing. They should´ve managed to solve it around 1650.“) 

While Sherlock set off to get a closer look at (and presumably steal some of) the old and valuable foliants on apiculture the monastery now hosted, John had encountered a group of young ministers staying for some scholarly experience, who brought him tea and gave him a tour of the building and its grounds. It was freezing cold, but the nice walk through the fresh air and the fascinating explanations about the dinosaur bones in the walls of the church made this almost feel like a holiday. Even if John wasn´t sure wether he should believe the part about the dinosaurs. 

As it was late and the roads had started to get icy when Sherlock emerged from the vaults of the library, John gladly accepted the invitation to stay for the night. The two ministers who had shown him around, insisted that he and Sherlock should join their group for some celebration in the ancient style fireplace room. Sherlock had attributed their offer to the tradition of hospitality („Common in monasteries. Porta patet and everything.“), but John recognized the look the minister with the dark curls had given him, the way she watched his every move around Sherlock and it spoke quite a different story. 

John also had a hunch how they had ended up dancing to really bad 90´s music. In hindsight it might have been a bit foolish to accept the dare of a drinking game with the oh-so-nicely smiling blonde minister. First, her obvious love and extended knowledge of irish and scottish beverages should have tipped him off. Second, she was bound to drink wine as part of their job after all and most likely had built up a remarkabe tolerance. So after some rounds of pints and copious amounts of whiskey dragging Sherlock on the makeshift dancefloor seemed like a really good idea. That Sherlock actually agreed to this could only be explained by his fascination for new things, which, as it seemed, extended to regional beverages that looked like mud and smelled like pure ethanol („You thoooo should trrry that, John!“).

And, well, both of them ending up on the floor could be easily explained by none of them being too steady anymore and tripping over each others feet while staggering to some kind of punkrock. Yes, this definitely was the reason he now was very, very warm on the side that had his own six-foot-tall detective heating cushion on it and freezing cold on the side that lay on the blank tiles of the cloister. John was very proud to reach all this conclusions on his own even while the floor seemed to be swaying slightly (he also now remembered drinking some sweet stuff that didn´t seem to have a name and was just, well, sweet). 

John stopped thinking when he felt hands stroking down his tights and lips pressed to his neck, a breath slowly exhaling against his chin, smelling like whiskey and liqourice and something chemical. As he looked passed the mop of curls that now covered his face, he felt a little bit judged by the stern man in the painting on the opposite wall. The murdered abbot looked down on him as if he could see the regions John´s mind had wandered off to (and that might just show how drunk he really was). „Maybe“, John thought before his mind completely shut down, the abbot and the ministers and the monastery only a faint noise in the back of his mind as Sherlock began writhing against him, „maybe, this really is some strange sort of benediction“.

**Author's Note:**

> Added to the noshameficathon because it has a blatant Mary Sue in it... And it was supposed to be a 221b. I can´t do these it seems (it´s not even near the 221 mark). But it has a "b" at the end. 
> 
> This started a christmas gift, I hope you-person-this-gift-is-for enjoys it (and look how nicely I put the "b" in there)! And yes, I had to put dinosaurs in it. (That´s also the reason it differs quite from my normal style. Not the dinosarus. The gift-thing.)
> 
> And, PSA for the rest, never try to engage in a drinking game with ministers. Just don´t.


End file.
